


Reign of the Fallen

by Millie55



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fantasy, Love Triangles, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Red Wedding, Revenge, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millie55/pseuds/Millie55
Summary: From the coast of the Westerlands to the white winters of the North, House Gwhendel prove their words to be true: Perseverance is Power. Known for their tall stature and amber eyes, they are the blood of the early Andal adventurous, House Gwhendel remains loyal to Nobel House Lannister. The house, however, is divided in two. While one rules the West, another had ridden North, marrying that last Stryder girl and claiming the land as their own. House Stryder now extinct, lives on through the Gwhendel children.A close-knit family, House Gwhendel's loyalty is tested following the events of the Red Wedding. Will House Gwhendel of the North persevere in their hour of weakness, or will they succumb to their losses and kneel to those who ask for fealty?





	1. Adilayde

Rest was not found in the chambers of the Lord. A message of the massacre had been relayed, sent by a raven to Fort Stryder, it now rested in the hands of its Lady. To hold it still, was a struggle. Lady Adilayde would have blamed this on the cold northern wind if anyone noticed-- The truth, however, was that she was terrified to the point of trembling. The letter had been sent from far south, the Tully sigil stamped into the hard wax. It was not everyday Fort Stryder received a letter from Riverrun, but she was sure that she was not the only one to receive such notice.

As a house principal to Winterfell, Lord Marcus and their two eldest sons, Cassius and Zachariah, rode in the army of Robb Stark. Depicted in a messy scrawl, that same army was cut down at The Twins in a bath of ale and blood. Adilayde could feel a sob taking over her throat, threatening to escape into the chamber. Had she lost them all? Tears began to build up in her crystal eyes at the thought of being without them.

Lord Marcus Gwhendel, the adamant--or the s _tubborn fool_ , as Adilayde would call him, was the love of her life, but this was not always the case. When her northern eyes, clear and bright as winter's ice, had first met the sight of Lord Gwhendel she had been only nineteen. The sole heir to her house, House Stryder, and the ruler of the fort of the same name. It was many years ago that Lady Adilayde was forced to watch her family die one by one. It was the beginning of a cruel winter, and was falling before the final fleet of ships could arrive on the coast. Cracking through the thin layers of ice, the crew stumbled ashore with the cargo and an illness as lethal as the blade of a sword. Unlike a wound, there was no healing from this sick. There was only death.

It took her brother first, Demetrius Stryder, first born and the only son to House Stryder. He was the first of two total children and the heir to their House. There was great panic when illness took him. How was Adilayde expected to take the throne? She was but a Lady. Someone that they could marry off to another Lord to grow their allies, not a woman fit to rule her own House. Her father hoped that the young brunette would not have to follow in his leadership as Demetrius had wed. His bride, Lady Andromeda, her hair like dancing flame and body once pale and lean was now round with the carrying of Demetrius' child-- the rightful heir to Fort Stryder following his father. The child's fate, however, did not rest in the icy chambers of the castle. Caught in the loss of her Lord, Lady Andromeda threw herself from the heights of her tower, painting the snow with the crimson of blood. Taking her own life, and the one of her unborn child.

Then, the sick took her parents. Quickly, her mother, Lyla, succumbed to the fever and death took her in a matter of days. Left, was just Adilayde and her father, Lord Caspian Stryder, the Just. A determined man, he did not let it take him easily. He fought until his last dying breath. It had been spent in the great hall, speaking with a man who was interested in his daughter's hand. The man she would later wed and make the Lord of Fort Stryder. Marcus still had his youth back then: golden locks of hair that were windswept from the long ride north, golden skin that only the western sun could give him, and eyes amber like molten bronze. It did not go unnoticed by her that he was a handsome man, but she knew of his motivations. He wanted her power. That made her hesitant with her decision. Any man she chose to marry would take on lordship, and if it did not happen quickly there was not a doubt in her mind that the fortress her ancestors had built would crumble and fall to those who would hear of her father's death. Their House would not be the first to fall to extinction because the Lord fell and the houses around them had grown greedy. To join Lord Marcus of Gwheniver in marriage was the only way to preserve the heritage of her family, and with their joining, House Stryder gained allies in the rest of House Gwhendel.

What once was a strategic move, had turned into love over their many years together. Now, as she stood by the tower window in which Andromeda once fell from many years prior, Adilayge watched the front gates. She couldn't feel more fearful. Was her love gone? Left to let their third born son, Jonas, take on his lordship? The thought made her heartache. How could she lose so much in such little time? A gust of northern wind tore through the room, a gentle dusting of snow took the floor before melting under the heat of the roaring fire made up to warm her for the seemingly never-ending night. She felt trapped in this darkness. Depression heavy on her chest, choking her sobs back until she was paralyzed with sorrow. Come morning, she would have to tell the children. They would not take it well, especially the youngest Sofya and Stryder. They would be fourteen come their name day, but they had been close with their father. They all had been, even their firstborn daughter, Delilah, who had made King's Landing her home to serve their Queen.

Retiring to bed was a thought that crossed her mind. To drop into the heavy blankets of fur, and let them envelop her in their warmth as she missed having her Lord beside her. But then, out of the corner of a crystal eye, she spotted movement-- movement just beyond the wall. Stepping closer to the window's edge, she squinted, focusing her eyes on the figure. No, two figures! Horses! The thought of sleep left her now, and hope was ignited. Could this be her husband? Her children?

Quick feet carried the woman through the corridor, the letter she had received from Riverrun abandoned on the floor of her chambers. Those who served the Lady, moved to the side to let her pass before moving to join her. They had grown worried having never seen such alarm on her delicate features. Adilayde ignored the many calls of "m'lady" as she moved. Soon she was out the castle front, and out into the streets-- what once was muddy in the summer heat, was stiff from the cold and compacted flat with the feet of travelers. With each heavy strenuous breath from her lips, a cloud took the wind. The cold air burned her lungs, but she did not dare stop.

"The gate! Open the gate!" Lady Adilayde pleaded as she grew closer to the iron bars in which divided her from the forests and fields beyond. The screech of the rising entry was loud in the night, waking commoners and kinship alike. It wasn't long until clusters of people gather to watch two black horses emerge from the darkness, a man on each of their backs. Relief took her body, muscles relaxing until she realized who was missing. Adilayde then became desperate, her body thrown at her Lord as he dismounted his steed.

"Zachariah, where is he? Where is he?" Her words, a desperate plea nearly lost in sobs that threatened to take her throat once more. Forlorn fists grasped at the garb of her love, his tall frame close to her small. The blood-soaked cloth stained her skin, horrified she pulled trembling hands back.

"It's not my blood," the gruff voice of Lord Marcus Gwhendel took her ears as well as the air.

Arms surrounded her, the arms of Septa Alara, Sofya's tutor. She was an older woman, with a face of wrinkles peering from under her headdress. Her hold was near motherly, comforting around her lady. It was there Adilayde broke, in front of all those loyal to House Gwhendel and the former House Stryder. Shaking with sobs, she now had to accept the reality that stood in front of her. Marcus and her son Cassius had returned. Beaten and battered from battle, but alive. Zachariah however, had not been so lucky. Grief overtook her, a strangled cry erupting from her lips. It cut through the air, silencing the whispers from the crowd. Zachariah had been loved by all and had been favored for Lordship over his brother Cassius. Not for his willingness to lead, but for his kindness and compassion. His loss would be one grieved by all.

With Septa Alara on one side of her and the strength of her son Cassius on the other, Lady Adilayde was supported. Yet, her legs shook at the knee, threatening to give way. Her voice was lost now, larynx weak, only sobs could escape, as she was caught up in her sorrow. She would be taken to her chambers, the difficult task of breaking the news of their loss to the rest of the young lords and ladies was left to their father. Through acid tears, Adilayde caught sight of the rest of her children. They had only made their way to the steps of their castle in time to catch sight of their weeping mother being ushered inside. This made her stomach knot. She had to be strong for them, but how could she be when she had just lost someone so dear to her heart? She could only hope that Marcus could be strong enough for the both of them.


	2. Marcus

There was chaos around him, yet he could hear nothing at all. Not in the moment, not with his thoughts screamed louder than the voices around him. Amber eyes watched the lips of those speaking in the room, their expressions twisted in anger with the news of their loss-- Zachariah, heir to Fort Stryder, slaughtered in cold blood at The Twins. Standing at the head of the table, it played over in his mind, haunting him.

They had just been among the celebrations, drinking ale and swapping war stories in their camp. They were in the company of those who fought alongside them, soldiers, squires but also friends. Running out of ale, Zachariah had volunteered to fetch more alongside their squire. He hadn't been out of sight for long, coming back with his stupid boyish smile and a laugh that brought happiness to all that had heard it. It, however, was cut short as his breath was taken by a blade. Blood coated iron, glistening in the light of flickering flames. They had caught eyes, just for a moment before he dropped, Northern blue meeting the distinct amber of House Gwhendel. The sight had ripped the poor man's heart out, drawing him into a feral state of mind-- killing all that had challenged him.

"Father," it was the only word that had pulled him from the terrors of his mind. It was spoken from the lips of his son Cassius, Zachariah's twin brother. Unlike his late brother, Cassius was broad and strong, relying on his physical strength rather than assuring he was loved and adored by all. Marcus had always believed that Cassius would be a greater Lord than Zachariah, but he did not want it to happen this way-- not with death.

Together, the two men shared a moment of embrace. Strong arms holding the other near, calloused hands gripping at cotton and furs that hung off broad shoulders. They had no time to mourn at The Twins and little to mourn now. There was much more that needed to be done than shed tears. Someone had to pay for the murder of his son, so it shall be done. Pulling back, he gave Cassius a nod. How Cassius grew taller than he, he could only guess. The eldest born must have gotten it from Adilayde's father. Fully parted now, he watched as the men around him finally calmed and gave their Lord the silence he needed to speak. Marcus however, struggled to find his words. Speaking of his loss would make it a reality as if seeing it wasn't enough.

The room was much emptier than he remembered it to be. The loss faced by House Gwhendel was much greater than his son. The house had lost many of those in the guard, men he considered his family more than soldiers to fight for him. To fight for the King of the North, Robb Stark. A heavy breath took him. Deep in his bones, he could feel that darkness was to come. No good could come from such bloodshed.

"For many, we are entering a time of mourning," he started off, his voice stronger than he expected. Marcus was never one to display his weakness-- to display that he was completely broken inside. "Mourning the loss of brothers, fathers, sons. My son. We had fought for our King, King of the North Robb Stark. The kingdom has fallen. Lured into festivities, respected as guests only to land in yet another battle. A battle with many casualties.

"These acts, they will not go ignored. The lives lost, they were not theirs for the taking. Not with such disrespect. Such dishonor. Our enemies can not see our vulnerabilities. This is not a time of weakness.  _Perseverance is Power_. These words, the words of my house, lead us to our strength. We will not be weighed down. We will put our sorrows beneath us, and use them to build us up higher."

His attention was then turned to an older man in the room. Maester Farrin, an essential member of the Gwhendel household. He had been with Fort Stryder longer than Marcus himself as he had been the counsellor, tutor, and healer to the former lord, Lord Caspian. "Maester, could you remind the room of the words of House Stryder?"

" _We will rise_ , my Lord," the elder man stood as he addressed the man he served.

" _We will rise_ ," the Lord repeated as he began to pace, "like the phoenix on our banner, we will not perish. We will be reborn from our suffering and burn all who have brought us such pain. Tonight we shall mourn, tomorrow we rise and we will persevere."

With that, he let the room clear until those closest to him remained. His son Cassius, Maester Farrian and captain of the guard Desmore Rogan. As much as he wanted to retire to his chambers, he needed to assure the rest of his family was taken care of. "For the majority, we are confined to the safety of Fort Stryder," he addressed the three of them in an almost fearful tone, "I can not hold all my children dear tonight. Delilah, she still remains in the Capitol in service to the Queen-"

"Her bastard may soon be King, but Cersei is no queen," his son voiced out, his distaste for the Lannisters blatant. Being raised by his aunt Johanna Lannister, Marcus' face twisted at his son's foul tone.

"Show some respect for your blood," Marcus growled towards his son, wisps of long, gray hair falling into his face. The blood of the lion ran through their veins, Marcus' mother, Morgana was Lannister born. The roar of a lion was rarely evident, the blonde hair and bright eyes of their bloodline lost in the dominant genes of House Gwhendel and the extinct House Stryder. When Marcus looked at his son Cassius, all he saw was Stryder with the exception of one of his eyes. Mainly blue, one had the oddest shape of amber in one quadrant. It was the Gwhendel shining through.

"My blood?" Cassius sounded, his tone strong, standing tall from the table, "my blood is spilled on the lands of Frey. Where my brother lay lifeless!"

"The Lannisters may be the only House with enough power to aid us in our fight for justice," Marcus pointed out to his son, reminding him that at twenty-five years he still had much to learn about leadership and war. "That is why I will be leaving Forst Strdyer to you come sunrise. I plan to ride south. Collect forces from Gwheniver and Casterly Rock while retrieving your sister from Kings Landing."

"Ride south my lord?" The maester let his voice be known.

"I do not have much a choice, not with my biggest allies and my daughter - My daughter," he let out a heavy sigh, frustration taking his form. "I need to get her home. I need her here. I need her safe!"

"You shall not ride alone, my lord," Desmore spoke up from leaning against the wall. He was a man in which Marcus trusted completely. Marcus and Desmore had grown up together as Desmore's father had served his own. Once boys who fought in the courtyard of Gwheniver, now fought side by side on the battlefield. Marcus was sure he would be dead if it wasn't for the man and would have joined their families if Rogan was ever to bear children with anyone but a whore. "I will ride by your side," he confirmed, "I will have Warne ready the horses come sunrise."

Lord Marcus approached his captain of the guard, wrapping his arms around him in a stronghold. "Thank you, my friend," he told him, "you are one I can always count on during dire need. Now, leave me and my son, we have a number of items to discuss."

Sitting back down at the long, dark, wood table was just Marcus and Cassius now. The elder of the two at one end, the younger at the other. Pain could be seen in their eyes, yet they both embodied their strengths. Marcus wanted his son to know that he would not waver, that he would not fail to care for those who remained after their great loss.

"You do know what this means, don't you?" Marcus sounded as his hands folded atop the table. "That in my absence, you will be Lord of Fort Stryder. Our family will be under your care. All in our household will answer to you. Any man, woman or child that comes through our gates will be under your reign. Any threat, any bargain will be yours to answer to. A part of me does not think you are ready--" he admitted to his son, "--prove to me that I am wrong. Prove to me that our House will prevail."

"I will not let you down Father," Cassius promised him, "I will do all I can for our family and our people. I am ready."

The words spoken by his son were quite convincing, Marcus, however, was still hesitant, but did not have another choice. Cassius was next in line for Lordship over Fort Stryder and Marcus needed to retrieve their eldest daughter. She was much too vulnerable - much too valuable to be left to the Capitol.

With the assurance that Cassius would have a firm rule over their land, Marcus then took it upon himself to retire to his chambers. He would need all the rest he could get before the long ride ahead of him. A sigh took him as he came to the heavy door. Beyond it, he could hear the sorrows of his lady: Yelps and choked back sobs. How he was going to break to her that he was to leave, he did not know. Breaking her heart further was the last thing he aspired to do.

The screech of the chamber door was near deafening. Drawing attention to him as he entered. The mass of his lady's body met his with full force. Adilayde would have knocked him over if he had not been braced for the impact. An arm wrapping her waist, the other went up to her tangles of hair, holding it to his neck as she hushed her. "My love," he whispered out to her, a kiss then was placed on her forehead, "all will be well again my love. Things will be made right," he promised her.

"My son is dead, how could that be made right?" her words were forced through sobs, almost inaudible to the ears of Lord Marcus.

"We get him the justice he deserves," he told her slowly, a hand leaving the back of her head to stroke dark curls from her face, "and to do this," he paused for a moment and sighed, this was going to kill her. "I must ride south, to Gwheniver, then King's Landing. With Desmore Rogan in my company, I will rally my brother and his men, seek aid from the Queen and collect our daughter. With them, I will ride home and kill the men who took our son from us-"

"No-" Adilayde sounded and pushed her body from his, "we need you here. With this slaughter, there is no saying what will come next for the North."

"It is for that very reason, I must go, my love," he told her, voice pained greatly now. "for the unknown may be dangerous for us. The Starks have fallen and we will be asked to kneel to the new Warden of the North. That is something I do not think Cassius will be willing to do-"

"But he-"

"He will take my Lordship in my absence, what I would do to protect you will not be the same as his choice of action," he broke to her and reached an arm out in hopes that she would take his hand. "We can not do this alone Adilayde," he reminded her, "there are no allies for us in the North, this is our only option. I fear-" his voice cracked now, mind returning to their daughter, "I fear that the Kings Landing is no longer safe for our daughter in these times of war. We may need her here..."

"Need her here? She serves the Queen, there is no safer place for Delilah," his wife claimed but reached out to take his hand.

"After this, I am not so sure," he broke to her, "we may need her to form an allegiance. To form our army."

"Make her a pawn in our war? A token to be wed and traded for soldiers who will perish on the front line?" Adilayde spoke, voice growing loud now. There was no sadness left, it had gone to fuel the anger that was now evident in her tone.

It was not a method Marcus favored, but it was how he developed the power he obtained now. He would never have been a Lord and would have ultimately taken the black if it wasn't for their joining. Marcus also knew that with Delilah's strength and determination, if she did not wed, their home was a place she would be ready to defend. While he helf great trust in Tywin Lannister's control over his daughter, it was in the North with her family where she would be the safest.

"If it must be done, it will be done," his voice sounded as he moved to the bed to lay her back, "I leave at dawn. Spending my last hours with you fighting is not my wish. The rising and falling of the sun each day without you will be too great. Lay with me, and for a moment, let me feel no pain," he begged of her, and for the first time since the death of his son, Lord Marcus Gwhendel began to cry.


	3. Cassius

Come morning, Fort Stryder had been dusted with summer snow. They were far enough north to face the chill of winter all seasons around, but they were nowhere near far enough to constantly suffer from the cold. It was days like these Lord Cassius had favored. Growing up, they were perfect for an early morning ride with his twin brother, or breakfast with his family. Today, however, he was forced to relive those memories alone, as his brother was gone and the rest of his family stood divided across Westeros. Cassius could not even remember the last time they had all be together.

Today, standing on the steps of their home to say goodbye to their father was as close as they could get it seemed. Beside him stood his brother Jonas. At times, some would think that his brother was, in fact, the one who was his twin, not Zachariah. Jonas shared the same dark hair and bright eyes most of the children had. Having his little brother of five years younger by his side made him less anxious to take on his father's lordship in his absence. He wouldn't have to do this completely alone, there was nothing against a little consultation. Right?

The wind tossed at his cape, causing the fur collar to tickle his neck. A hand raised to rub at the irritation as he watched Warne bring his father the horse he would be riding south. It was then his stomach dropped, this was happening. A heavy breath erupted up his throat, taking the air in a mist of fog. Time to grow up.

He did not wait to receive a hug goodbye from his father. Instead, he moved down the cold stone steps, slick with the slush of snow. He met the horses, a large hand reaching out to stroke its mane. "Ride fast, run strong," he told the horse whose nose nuzzled him in expectation of a carrot or a hand full of oats. Cassius was disappointed that he did not have anything to give the horse, but was sure he would find much grass to graze upon as they moved further south.

Glancing back over his shoulder he watched as his father moved along his brother and sisters to say his farewells. He started with Jonas, their embrace brief but they exchanged words. From his distance, Cassius could not hear what was said. A part of him worried that they were speaking of his leadership. That his father was asking his brother to look out for him. That it was his brother Zach that was supposed to be the true heir of Fort Stryder, not Cassius.

His stomach twisted at the thought, threatening to send whatever breakfast he had managed to eat back up, and down onto the leather of his boots. Mismatched eyes watched as he moved from one child to the next. It was strange looking at the family in which seemed so very small in the absence of Delilah and Zachariah. Including himself and Jonas, only four remained. The youngest two stood beside Jonas. Stryder and Sofya. They would only be fourteen come their name day. They were still children in his eyes, yet, they would be teaching young Stryder to fight soon. This skill seemed more important than ever now. Hell, he might even teach little Sofya a thing or two to ensure her safety if anything were to ever happen to them.

Soon his father stood before him, dark gray hair tied back and warm riding clothes worn to protect him from the winter's bite. For a moment, the men just held the others stare, but then bodies came together in an embrace. Eyes shut, threatening to be burned by the heat of tears, but the eldest son did his best to remain strong. "Bring her home," Cassius told his father in regards to his sister. He would ride to her himself, but no one would listen. His father had connections in the south, this was the only way.

"I will," the promising words of his father were muffled into his furs, "perseverance is power."

"We will rise," Cassius countered to him and watched as his father's features fell into a stone-cold look. It was no secret that Cassius favored his mother's line of heritage. He was a man of the North, a Stryder - even if he did bare the name Gwhendel. Taking a step back from the horse, he gave his father the room to mouth the strong steed. It could take as many as six days and nights before his father to return to Fort Stryder. He did hope that with the horse they had chosen, that it could take half that time. Being apart for extended periods of time did not feel right in the gut of the new lord. They needed all the bodies they had if the events of the Twins affected the North in a negative fashion.

With the gallop of the horses and calls from the common people, Lord Marcus and Desmore Rogan took off out the gates, taking on the lands of the North to collect an army and their family. With their depart, the square began to clear, leaving the remaining members of House Gwhendel to stand alone on the steps of their home.

The summer sun was finding its way into the sky now, warming all beneath it, including the snow that began to melt down into murky puddles. Puddles that splashed up to dirty the black riding boots Lord Cassius wore. Hands reached up to take the heavy cape off his shoulders in his hands. He then handed it off to his brother. He, however, did not move to retire into the castle with the rest of his family. Instead, he took the streets, moving through crowds of common folk, smiling and nodding when they took notice of him, but mostly he kept his head down. Where he was headed, he wanted few to know about. It was not a place he favored to spend his time, but he had a message to deliver.

The building was small, but one of the nicer on the outskirts of the fort. It stood three stories tall, the velvet curtains preventing any from stealing a glance at any of the girls inside. Cassius stood outside for a moment, taking his last breath of fresh air before moving through the passage and into the whorehouse. The place reeked of sex and ale. In the rooms beyond, he could hear the forced moans of the whores that reside and work in the brothel. How Zachariah spent much of his time in this place, he did not understand.

It took longer than he would have hoped to be met by the owner of the brothel. A young man, Xander was what he had known him as. Xander's family had come North with his father when he had taken claim over Fort Stryder. They were not people Cassius generally trusted, but he had leverage over the man. That gave him a sense of security.

"Lord Cassius," Xander spoke as he pockets coin from a man on his way out the door, "should I have my girls ready for you?"

Shaking his head, he nodded towards the back room. "I have come to talk."

Naked women moved out from towards their chambers. Full breasts pressed together in a teasing manner as they moved towards him, taunting him for their service. Cassius kept his head up. He couldn't stoop that low, not as the new lord. There, the rooms were almost as lavish as that of his parents. Drapery of satin and silk dressed the walls. There was a grand desk where Xander would do his work and a bed of many pillows off to the side as when you worked as a brothel keep, there was as much work as there was pleasure. That fact, was very clear as two women lay on the bed, one on top of the other. Kissing, humping, grinding and moaning. It was difficult for Cassius to keep his eyes off the women. One with hair as blonde as the summer sun and skin like gold, the other skin pale as eyes and hair as black as coal.

Noticing they had caught the Lord's attention, he watched as the women put on a little show for him. It was enough to make his pants grow tight. He was having a hard time resisting now. He nearly choked on his need, as the women were sent from the room to give himself and Xander the room. Eyes glanced the women over, watching their curvaceous bodies jiggle and bounce with each hop of their step. It took Xander making a loud noise with the chair dragging across the floor in a near deafening screech to draw Cassius' mind back to business.

"Now, if you did not come for my girls," the man spoke as he sat at his table, "what brings the new Lord of Fort Stryder to such an establishment?"

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a medallion his twin once wore. Simple bronze that hung low on his chest, right over his heart. "I come, as it would be what my brother would have wanted." Holding it out to the man he offered him a pained look, he had to have heard of their loss. Once back at Fort Stryder, the news had spread like wildfire. "My brother, he cared deeply for you. He would want you to have-"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Xander cut him off, obviously sweating with nervousness. To lay in bed with another man was seen as taboo among many and often was hidden from all if you had been part of such relations. Zachariah had been one of them. Cassius often caught his brother sneaking off to the brothel, not to lay with women, but Xander. At first, Cassius was angered by this but soon came to understand that no matter who his brother had chosen to love, he would always be family.

"Yes, you do," Cassius pressed gently and placed the cool phoenix medallion into his palm. "He loved you, whether you choose to acknowledge that or not is your choice. All I know is that you were the person he came to. Not one of your whores. Now that he is gone," he took a moment to sigh, he would never get used to hearing those words come out of his mouth, "he would want you to know how he truly felt and that is why I have come to give this to you."

Bright eyes watched as Xander took the bronze in his fist. Cassius could only assume he had seen it countless times before. The other man seemed to have spent more time with Zachariah than he had himself the last eight years.

"Thank you, my lord," the man spoke, his body no longer tense with his need for defense, "how could I ever repay you?"

Cassius' eyes dropped to his boots for a moment, biting his lip as he thought to himself. What could this man possibly give him that he didn't already have? "I wouldn't mind getting to know that pretty little blonde you had in here," he winked as a coy smirk took his lips. Damn these whores, why did they have to be so tempting?

Judging by the look on the man's face, giving Cassius time with the blonde was something he could comply with. "Now, Ingrid just traveled all the way from the west, was headed for the Capitol when father convinced her to come our way. Something about the Northerners and their endowment so I hope you don't disappoint," he laughed to his lord lightly as if they had been longtime friends, "and treat her kindly, she has much left to learn."

A knock took the door frame of one of the chambers, and soon the pretty blond peeked her head out from behind the curtains in which replaced the door that had once been torn from its hinges.

"Xander, my Lord," Ingrid greeted them, a playful smile taking her lips.

"Lord Cassius, he requests your company," Xander told her, and Cassius could feel his hand on his back, guiding him forward. "Take as long as you need my Lord." The two were then left alone, the curtains swaying behind him, their shadow dancing across the floor. The young Lord held his breath, almost nervous with the thought of laying with the whore. It was not something he had ever considered before as his mother had raised him to cherish consummation as something saved for your bride. Yet, many men found their way to the beds of the brothel.

Hands took his, guiding him to the bed carefully. Could she feel the sweat on his palms? See the hesitation in his eyes? Heart pounding hard on his barrel chest, he almost pulled away. Instead, he let Ingrid continue to guide him hesitantly.

"You are nervous," the young woman nodded as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him. Her golden ringlets blocked most of her beautiful body from his view. Pert nipples peaked out between strands, the flesh of her breast bouncing as her hands began to work on his pants.

"This is not a place I spend much of my time," Cassius told her, eyes watching each of her movements. Each touch of her hand, he was sure it was pure magic. "Keep my mind at ease, let me forget the place that rests beyond your door," he begged of her. Shoulders rolled back, then his neck fell to let his eyes stare at the ceiling. "Tell me of your life before-" his words were cut when the hot moisture of Ingrid's lips found the stiffness of his length. In his throat, a soft sound of approval made itself known.

"My mother was a whore-" the whore sounded before her lips found him again.

"My father a blacksmith-"

Suck.

"Just got to Fort Stryder in the night, passed many on our journey-" her lips did not make it back to his cock this time. His hands had found her hair, holding her head back so he could look down at her.

"Who? Who were the men who crossed your path?" he asked curiously. He was almost hyper-vigilant now that Fort Stryder was under his rule. Now that the North was burning in the hellish aftermath of the massacre.

"Merchants, and travelers," she spoke out in an almost dreamy voice, "and the Warden of the North."

"The Starks have fallen, there is no way-"

"No, no," she told him near laughing, "Not the Starks. A handsome man, Roose Bolton and his son, what was his name? The Bastard?"

Any arousal Cassius had built up from having the woman suck and stroke at his length was long gone now. His body was overtaken with the worried thoughts that came with living under the rule of the Boltons. With their sigil a man cut flayed man, they were a house feared by many. Soon they would come to seek fealty.The thought made his stomach sick. Could he kneel to them as the Lord of Forst Stryder? He wasn't so sure.

Picking up his breaches from around his ankles, Cassius tugged them up to his waist and fastened them in place. He had not a moment to waste now. Muttering out a number of apologies to the pretty blonde, along with promises of making it up to her, he stumbled through the curtains and briskly made the walk back to the castle. House Gwhendel would need to be ready.


	4. Delilah

Home. It was too far out of reach for Lady Deliah of House Gwhendel. In the mind of the young maiden, her home was encompassed by the cold chill of a winter's breeze. Snow dusted the ground, and the warmth of furs would tickle sensitive skin. At home, in the gray stone walls of Fort Stryder, Delilah was surrounded by family. Taking long walks with her mother and sister, and laughing with her brothers. All of that was gone, left behind many days and nights away. And for what? To serve her Queen.

As a favor to her father, Delilah had been granted the honor of leaving the North for King's Landing. It had not been something the Lady of the North had a say in, however. Her father's house, her house, had once been based in the Westerlands. Gwheniver was sworn to Casterly Rock. Sworn to House Lannister as it was under their rule. Gwheniver went to her Uncle Magnus, as her father took to the North where he would swear fealty to the Starks. It was a difficult choice to be made or so she was told. The blood of the Lion did course through her father's veins. It called to the South. To the warmth of summer. The lush gardens that lavishly decorated the Red Keep. This was what was to become Delilah's new home. A place for her to become a proper lady and to hopefully wed a Lord of noble upbringing. This was what her father expected of her, but how could she find a husband when she rested in the shadow of those she served?

Although it was shallow, Delilah was put at ease when Princess Myrcella Baratheon had been betrothed to the heir of Dorne. She was beautiful with her blonde mane and bright eyes. Women of such Andal beauty were well sought after in the South. Delilah did not inherit similar looks from her father and his bloodline. The golden strands of her father had been lost to the dark hair of the first men. The dark hair that had been passed on in the blood of House Stryder. Eyes had taken her father's amber hues, an unusual sight for both the North and the South. They were pools of liquid gold, but they did not seem to be the treasure people sought out after.

A highborn handmaiden, Delilah did have privileges others did not have the luxury of having. The expectations held for the young woman did not include emptying chamber pots or readying bath water. Delilah's duties rather were to offer company and companionship to the queen. Share her bed on nights the King had chosen to lay with painted whores, assist in the dressing of her queen in gorgeous gowns, and accompany to any event Cersei desired to have company. Since the passing of King Robert Baratheon, and the rise of King Joffery Baratheon, Cersei more often than not, had the Northern girl by her side.

A small council meeting was what was faced by the Northerner. It was not often that a woman of her status was granted permission to stand among those handpicked by the King to sit on his council. Cersei however, had insisted that the dark-haired beauty remain as long as her mind did not rest in their business and that she served the council as they needed over the duration of their meeting. Few were in attendance this evening. Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, the pin resting proudly on his chest. Beside him, Grand Maester Pycelle dressed in his heavy black robes. It was a wonder to Delilah how a man so frail could manage to walk under such heavy drapery of fashion. It was across from the Grand Maester that Delilah stood in her silken gown behind her queen. She felt out of place here, but also privileged. How many could say they were in the company of people with such status? Within an arms reach was the Master of Whispers. Varys. A plump man from across the Narrow Sea. He was one of few Delilah found herself afraid of. There was nothing this man did not know. He would make or break one's world with a single word as he was the eyes and ears of the Red Keep. The spider. There was one vacant seat at the table, it was not for her King. He was too pleased with himself to be able to sit. He was practically prancing around the room with Lannister pride.

The final seat was to be taken by Tyrion Lannister, former hand to King Joffery. Footsteps of his short strides echoed through the room as he was last to attend. The imp was what he was infamously known as. He stood up to her waist and was further dwarfed by his bride Sansa. Moving from her Queen's side for just a moment, the handmaiden poured the last born Lannister a chalice of wine before offering it to him with a smile. She didn't hold eye contact with him too long out of respect for his Lady Sansa. She knew of the man's history. Often laying with whores before his joining with the Tully-haired Stark. The last thing she wanted was to give the Lord the wrong idea. Delilah was an honorable woman. She had yet to lay with any man, and would not dare try to get between a Lord and his Lady.

Before the stubby fingers of the imp could take the cup, it was knocked from the delicate hands of the young maiden with the force of the Kings body colliding with her own. He was a young lion cub, high on excitement, with no control over his actions - or so it seemed to Delilah. It could also be that the king did not care who stood in his way.

"Show him. Come on, show him," the young king bellowed out and gave no mind to the wine-stained silk Delilah was now forced to dawn. She, after all, was just a handmaiden to him, therefore she was beneath him. Delilah did not dare speak up in regards to the humiliation she felt. This was her King. Speaking against him and his actions could earn grave punishment she was in no position to face. Instead, she just took a step back and let the king run his course.

From the shadows, Delilah watched as the old maester struggled to hand of a narrow roll of paper off to Lord Tyrion. It was not without struggle, the paper hitting the floor once before reaching the hands of the short Lord. It was there between fingers it was pulled apart and read from full lips; "Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. Signed Walder Frey."

It had been the first time Delilah's ears had heard the message from the Twins, but it had caused her stomach to knot. From the last letters she had relayed with her mother, Delilah had learned that the Twins was where her father and brother were headed with Robb Stark and his army. Fighting the urge to vomit, she looked towards her king and awaited his interpretation of the message.

"Is this bad poetry, or is it supposed to mean something?" Tyrion sounded again, and the young woman sighed, relieved that she too did not completely understand the note.

"Robb Stark is dead," the young king celebrated, a cackle erupting from his throat. This was the opposite reaction of the young phoenix who wept in the shadows. If the Starks had fallen, what happened to her family? What of them? Had they fallen victim to the wrath of Walder Frey and his men as well? "And his bitch mother," the foul brat continued to boast in all his glory as if it was his hand that had taken their lives. It made Delilah sick, acid bile rising in her throat as she fought every fiber of her being to go off on her king. "Write back to Lord Frey. Thank him for his service and command him to send Robb Stark's head. I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast."

It was then the brunette was ready to snap and moved from the darkness to stand behind Cersei, "My Queen-" she went to speak but was cut out by a growing argument lead by Joffery. The bloody bastard sure did know how to get in her way. Words were passed between those in attendance. First Varys, then Cersei and her brother, finally Joffery himself until Lord Tywin put an end to the stubborn madness that had overtaken the room.

"Any man who must say, I am the king is no true king. I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war for you," the words of Tywin however, only brought more childish screeching from the king. It practically made Delilah's ears bleed. Her youngest brother Stryder would be a better king, even if he was not yet capable of wielding a sword.

"My father won the real war. He killed Prince Rhaegar," Joffery took off on his high and mighty horse. If only he knew the rumors, the ones that suggested that he was not the true heir to the iron throne. The rumors in which his uncle was his true father. The young maiden had once heard those suggestions from the traitor Eddard Stark. They were words that had never left her. Yes, it called the honor of her Queen into question, but nothing seemed to make more sense. "He took the crown while you hid under Casterly Rock!"

"The king is tired," Delilah could not help but snicker at the words of the Lannister Lord. He gave no care to the status of his grandson and was one of the few that had the courage to put him in his place. This pleased Delilah greatly, and her pleasure brought great anger to her king.

"You find something funny do you?" Joffery taunted, taking a step forward to stand toe to toe with Delilah. She held her breath, his tall form looking down at her. She, however, did not look away from him as she did his uncle. She would not show her submission here. Her father taught her better than to cower away under threat, she imagined however that he would be displeased with the fact that she was challenging her king.

"No my Lord," the lie left her lips with ease, this seemed to anger him further as his features turned a pale shade of pink.

"You lying little cunt," he cursed, grasping a hand full of dark hair at the nape of her neck. The tension made the woman's head lean back further, or risk losing half her hair, "I will have your head on a fucking spike!"

"See him to his chambers!" The voice that erupted was not one Delilah had expected to come. She had half expected the room to watch Joffery beat her down, but Lord Tywin had found his way to his feet, challenging the king himself. The shock lessened the grasp on her hair, enabling the handmaiden to pull from her kings grasp and to move towards the man who had spoken for her. As for that moment, he was her safety.

Delilah remained behind Lord Tywin until her Queen had managed to remove the flustered Joffery from the room. Taking a moment, she let out a heavy breath. "Thank you my Lord," she told him after a moment, her legs bending in a curtsy. "Now, if you would excuse me, I should ready the Queen's chambers for the night," Delilah told the Lannisters that remained but was further held up when Tywin pulled a letter from his coat. One that bears the sigil of her house, the Phoenix. The wax had been broken, Delilah could only assume he had read it prior to letting it reach her hand. She could understand why. In his eyes the Stark's were traitors. Her father had once knelt to Eddard Stark, and had chosen to ride alongside Robb in his war against Joffery for slaughtering his father. If it wasn't for their shared blood, and the claim that their loyalty to House Stark was purely strategic, Delilah's head would have been on a stake long ago.

"What does it read?" Delilah spoke out after a moment of chewing on her lower lip. It was a nervous habit since childhood. Her mother had once said it was what caused her full lips and cautioned her to stop. Delilah however, knew that to be rubbish and continued what was considered an unladylike and a rather whorish practice.

"A note from your father," Tywin spoke bringing relief to the young woman's form. The tension could no longer be seen in her shoulders, and a sigh of relaxation had taken her body. A letter from her father meant he was alive. "I must say, child, it does not bring good news."

It was then that her heart dropped. An arm extended to her, the paper in her reach now. Hesitant fingers took hold of the parchment, her lean frame taking the seat her queen once sat upon. It was there she read the letter a raven had brought.

_My Dearest Delilah,_

_I hate to deliver such news with the flight of the raven. The family has suffered a great loss. Zachariah has been slain. We may be many realms apart, but you do not stand alone-_

Eyes blurred by tears, Delilah could not bear to read the remaining words written in her father's hand. They brought to much pain to her chest. The pressure making it far to hard to breathe. Zachariah had been too good for the war. Too kind. A lover, not a fighter. He shouldn't have been on the battlefield. Delilah did not doubt he was trying to prove himself to their father, as well as his twin brother.

"Lady Delilah," it was the voice of Tyrion Lannister now. Delilah hadn't noticed the man raise to his feet and join her by her side. "I would like to offer my greatest condolences. Your brother and I, we had met once on my travels back from the Night's Watch. He was a great man, full of life, respected all and only wronged those who had done wrong to him. There need be more men like him in our many realms. Would have made a great lord-"

"Yes, he would have been," she caught the half-man off, her composure slipping. Tears burned the inner corners of her eyes, slowly dripping down over the height of her cheekbones. "I-" she started but her voice was cut with a breath of a sob, "I would like to return to Fort Stryder. To be with my family. I ask you, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King to grant me permission to go home," he words had been ones of desperation. To be home in her mother's arms was the one thing she craved. To stand with her brothers and sister as the war raged on, and assure that she would not lose anyone else like she had Zachariah.

The room was left in silence, the old man in thought. He had to say yes, she thought. The stories told of Marcus' upbringing were ones Delilah had remembered well. Her grandmother, sister to Johanna Lannister had died in the birth of her daughter. Leaving the three children to be raised by Lord Gwhendell. It was a struggle for the Lord, leading him to seek assistance from his late lady's family. Johanna had helped the family without thought. Raising the three children alongside her own twins Jamie and Cersei. That was until the birth of Tyrion. With his birth, Marcus had been stripped of another mother figure. This hardened him, as did having two men forming him into the leader he had become. Tywin had to understand the bond of family. As those who suffered loss knew the importance of keeping your blood close.

"My dear, that is not something I can permit," Tywin broke to her, his tone apologetic, "I promised your father that as a handmaiden of Cersei you, would learn to be a proper lady. That I would find you a Lord to wed. With the raging of wars across the lands, there are not many who can be trusted. It is here, in King's Landing where you will be the safest. No harm can come to you here."

"Safe? You and I, were we not in the same room moments ago? When my king was seconds from laying harm upon me?" Delilah spoke out to him, her features overtaken by disbelief, "explain to me how that is supposed to make me feel safe!"

"There are monsters greater than that boy beyond these walls," Tywin cautioned her, taking a step forward to place a hand on her arm, "in the days to follow you will come to understand. We cannot abandon all you have done for us here, how much you have grown and will continue to grow. This is your place. Not the north. Now, I recall that the Queen's bed must be readied for her."

There was no use in arguing with him now. Tywin was the Hand of the King after all. What he said was final, even if she did not like it. It was no reason for her to make a fool of herself as Joffery had prior. Instead, the tiny brunette just nodded her head, curtsied to the Lannister men out of respect and excused herself from the chamber.

Walking the corridors of the castle alone was a foreign feeling as she was almost always in the company of another handmaiden or the queen. Walking through the emptiness, Delilah was left with her thoughts. Oh, how they tormented her. Imagination running wild, she thought of her brother Zachariah. Had he died quickly? Painfully? Had he suffered? There was so much she had yet to learn about the events that had broken up her family. Living in the Red Keep, would she ever learn the truth? King's Landing was not a place for honesty after all. All that happened here, was survival.

The queen's chambers were the most lavish Delilah had ever set eyes on. Walls were draped in fine white silk. Candles stood high on their sticks, flames flickering, wax dripping down into gold. The bed had four posts, sweet suede casting a shadow across thin sheets where Delilah had half expected to find the queen asleep. She, however, had yet to retire.

Taking this time alone, Delilah snuffed some of the candles to dim the room. She then pulled back the sheets and looked over the comfort in which she had spent many of her nights. Some of those were spent in slumber, on others they had talked until the sun found the sky once more. The relationship he had with Cersei was one Delilah had come to cherish. She was like the older sister she never had. A hand stroking the smooth cotton, Delilah wouldn't help but wonder if her queen would request her company for the night. The alternative would be to retire to her own chambers that had seemed too far at this hour.

Risking punishment, Delilah dressed down in the light robes she dawned to bed when she lay in the company of her queen. Thin fabric that left little to the imagination. It had been a gift from Cersei, claiming she had worn it before the birth of her children. Liking the way it fit on her frame and how it kept her cool on hot summer nights, Delilah kept the excuse for a nightgown. Crawling into the bed, Delilah made sure room was kept for Cersei when she decided to wind down for the night. Although her head was loud with the yearning of being with her family, sleep took the young lady into her dreams with ease. 


	5. Jaime

The road to King's Landing had been one great difficulty. It was a journey that had only come to happened because of a mother's desperation to be with her children once more. Life would be much different for the Kingslayer if he had been left in the cage to rot by Lady Catelyn. It is there in the camp of House Stark under the reign of The King of the North, Robb Stark he would have died. Sometimes, he wishes he had been killed for taking the life of Lord Rickard Karstark's son. It would have saved him great amounts of pain, but his honor had been called into question. It was something he needed to prove, even if it was to those considered the enemy.

Released from his captivity, he was given one objective in exchange for his freedom: Return Sansa and Aria Stark to their home of Winterfell. With him, he had one man - well woman - to act as his guard, Brienne of Tarth. At first glance, many would mistake the tall, broad woman with her femininity lost in her armor and blonde hair cropped short. Jaime however, would have never asked another to guide him home. For the tension between one another had dissipated, and he would say that a form of friendship had been formed. She had assured his life would be kept, as he did the same for her when the time did come. There had been battles between them, both by the sword and by word and had no causalities. All that was lost was not at her fault. The loss of his sword hand, that was at the fault of Locke.

Although Jaime was still pained by his loss and was easily disgusted when his eyes fell upon the stump at which his hand once rested he could not be more relieved as he walked through the gates of King's Landing. He, after over a year of suffering, was finally home. Near unrecognizable with a beard grown thick on his face, hair longer than he had ever had before, and clothes that had seen better days, he looked like a commoner. Many had made that clear when he had emerged through the gates with Brienne at his heels.

Snide remarks left the lips of men as he shuffled forward through the cluttered streets. Their words stated that this place was not meant for men like him, obviously not realizing to whom they were actually speaking. This place was his more than any as the uncle - no, father of the King. Jaime, however, did not take the time to correct them. He was too tired. Too weak. He had one objective left on his mind. One thing that had kept him going when death was drawing him near. His love. His sister. Cersei.

She was what he thought about when he found sleep and was the first thing he thought of when he aroused in the morning. Her long, blond tendrils and how they felt of silk in his calloused hands; creamy skin that tasted so sweet on his lips; and the way she felt around him as they made love. Those were the things he lived for. As they crossed his mind again, he was faced with a sudden burst of energy. Cersei was so close, and he needed to get to her.

Pushing through the streets, Jaimes moves as quickly as his tired feet could take him. What started as a run grew slower with every step. Countless times he would find himself nearly tripping over dragging boots, but each time he caught himself. He was determined to make it. He was too close to give up now. Soon, his hand was dragging against the wall of the Red Keep, taking the route he could walk in his sleep. The path to his sister's chambers.

The door was almost too heavy for him, but with all the strength he could muster he pushed the heavy wooden doors open with a screech. His steps were slow as he entered. Had he awakened her? Had she already left to start her day? The room had been just how he remembered, simple elegance. Finally, he felt at peace. Moving in a little further, he took in the scent of the room. It smelt like home.

"Cersei?" his words left his lips in a near whisper when he did not see her at first. Moving deeper into the room, he spotted a figure in the bed. That had to be her. A smile splayed beneath his beard, she had been wearing the sheer fabric she had dawned when she was young. When he body had been untouched with the swell of a child. It had been many years since she had seen her in it. It was the best thing to return to.

"Cersei," he sounded again in hopes of pulling her from her sleep. As he grew closer he could make out details he could not see from the entryway. The swell of her hip as she lay on her side. Legs tangled with the heavy blankets. Her tiny waist draped in the sheer fabric. Long brown tendrils that cascaded over her features-

He froze. This was not his sister. Confusion took over him, was his mind playing tricks on him now? Moving towards the bed, his hand reached out taking the shoulder of the slim form. The touch obviously startled the young woman, her body rolling over quickly. Eyes were wide with fear, then came a scream that rattled his ears. The warmth of her body left his hand as she moved to get far from him. She stood on the other side of the bed, her feet itching to run but instead, she stayed.

Why did she remain? Did she feel vulnerable in the gown that left her exposed? He would not blame her if she did. The pale pink, sheer fabric even had him staring through at what she had to offer to a man. Wide hips; perfect for child barring, a tiny waist, and breasts to perfect handfuls that perked up in the cool morning breeze. When his eyes met the young woman's features, his face contorted into further confusions. He had seen these features once before. Many years prior, how had they not aged?

"Adilayde?" he sounded, voice stronger than when he had spoken his sister's name. He was regaining his strength again. This could not be possible. There had to be some explanation for- Then it hit him, Adilayde's eldest daughter. Handmaiden to his sister. There was the answer to the questions that boggled his mind.

"Lady Delilah, my apologies-" his words were cut by the screech of the door, then a series of quick-paced footsteps. When Jaime looked away from the brunette, he found the woman he had been looking for. The sight of her left him breathless. She was running to him - no, to the girl. He watched as a motherly embrace took hold of the handmaiden, shielding her body from his sight.

"Cersei," he finally spoke again, his words finally meeting his sister's ears. Her eyes grew wide as she finally recognized the dirty, hairy man that had infiltrated her chambers. Then, her face fell, there was no expression Jaime could recognize now. Was she happy? He had hoped she would be. She was his one love after all. Before he could speak again, Lannister guards had flooded the room. He could only assume that Delilah's screams had been heard and the knights were sent as the result. They moved in on him, prepared to take him. The voice of his sister, however, kept them in one place.

"Stop," her voice was crisp and firm. She was not a stranger to power. "The man before you is no common man. This is my brother."

Two words took the room in a series of whispers: the Kingslayer.

With the dismissal of the guards, Jaime remained in the room with his sister and her handmaiden. His eyes were stuck of his sister now, in awe with how little she had changed. There was only one difference. Her affection was gone. This made his stomach knot as he hoped it was the result of being in the company of the Stryder - no, Gwhendel girl.

"Shall I excuse myself my Queen?" the short brunette spoke for the first time, drawing Jaime's eyes to her for a moment. The smart girl knew just when she was not needed. Or so he thought.

"No," Cersei answered and stroked the woman's arm gently. "I need you to tend to Jaime. I want no one else seeing him this way."

"Yes my Queen," Delilah nodded and bowed in the slightest to display her respect for his sister. Jaime however, was brought Jaime taken by a heavy sigh in an attempt to remain in control of his frustration. He had faced much hardship, traveled great lengths to return to his love Cersei and now she could not stand to be in a room with him?

To protest was his first instinct, but as he parted his lips, Cersei was already gone. Left alone with the Handmaiden again, he watched as she covered herself up with a robe. Modesty had taken the young Lady now as he was no longer a threat to her. Jaime made no effort to move now, caught in his mind. Why had Cersei given him to the maiden like that? Did she no longer hold the love they once shared in her heart any longer? Had she founds another to share her bed?

The touch of gentle hands pulled him from his mind. They had been placed on his arm in which was captured in his sling, before traveling up his chest to remove it from his shoulders. Eyes remained on the stump, her lips slightly parted in awe. More often than not, a man would have died from such injury. If the blood loss did not take him, the infection did. Jaime was one of the few to be considered lucky. Next, came the removal of his chemise, exposing his malnourished body to her. When she did not appear phased her was relieved. It was there she stopped. Leaving him in his trousers.

"Thank you," he muttered to her. Dressing and undressing had been something that had grown much more difficult with his loss.

"You called me by my mother's name," she finally founds words to speak to the Kingslayer.

"Yes," he confirmed, there was no denying the mistake he had made in identifying the woman. "Your resemblance to her is undeniable. Near-duplicates except-"

"For my father's eyes," Delilah cut in softly. He could only assume those were words she heard quite often.

"Yes, save for his eyes," he nodded and sat down for the woman who had fetched a pair of scissors for his mess f hair. "You know, I was there the day your father wed your mother?" he offered brief conversation as sheers began to cut off thick strands. His attendance had not been planned. He had not known of the wedding at all when had left Casterly Rock with the intent of taking the Northern beauty as his bride to please his father. Upon arrival, however, he was forced to offer his congratulations to the man he accepted as a brother.

"I hear it was a small affair," she spoke as gentle hands pulled his hair back from the strong features of his face. "With few in attendance and little to show for it. Mother didn't even have a proper dress."

"No, but she did look quite beautiful," he assured the young handmaiden, "she need not a gown to prove that. Marcus and Adilayde, they are lucky to have one another. It did not look bright for House Stryder-"

"You need not remind me," she spoke bitterly as she rounded to his front. "For a phoenix to rise, it must first fall," as she spoke hand reached out, touching the rough hair of his beard. A brow was quirked up at him, silently asking if it could go.

Taking her hand, he moved it back from him. He then took the scissors to cut the wild strands back until they would be short enough to shave.

"Would you like a bath drawn for you, Ser Jaime?"

She had been halfway to the tub when Jaime reached out to stop her. "No, you are not the average handmaiden. You, you are a Lady. A woman of such status need not draw a bath-"

"I insist Ser-"

He shook his head, doing his best to pull his thin cotton shirt back onto his form. "Lady Delilah, if you would excuse me, I will finish with this in the company of another. Another whose innocence is not so pure." He watched as his words left a confused expression on her face. As her lips parted to counter his words his feet began to move towards the exit. "Good day Lady Delilah, and thank you."

With the door shut behind him, he leaned back against its strong support. Why had it been so difficult to be in a room with her? His heart continued to pound hard and the palm of his hand sweat. Delilah's resemblance to her was too great. Adilayde. His first love who wasn't his own sister. Their joining was near set in stone before the plague took her family. Before her father could give the final decision. With his life sworn to the King's Guard, Jaime abandoned the idea of Lordship and remained close to his twin sister. You did not choose who you loved, but he loved Cersei. Question was, did she still love him and was this young lady going to stand in the way of was he believed to be true love?


	6. Cassius II

The pressure that had come with lordship had exceeded the expectations of the new lord of Fort Stryder. Cassius knew it was not going to be easy to fill his father's shoes, but it was ten times more difficult than anticipated. There were complaints to be heard, sentences to pass and his family to care for all while assuring that those on his land were safe during the times of war. In the days following his father's absence he had already been forced to take a man's hand, another he had sent to the wall. He was making himself known as a strong lord with little to no mercy for those who tried to go against their laws. Cassius demanded and earned the respect of his people.

Gaining this respect, however, was tiresome. With dusk falling, Cassius had retired to his chambers early. Sitting at the end of the bed, his back arched over, elbows rested on his knees. From there his head was in his hands, swarmed with his duties and the pressures he now faced. One thought weighed the heaviest on his mind. As the Lord of Fort Stryder, he would need to produce an heir to follow. For that to happen, he would first need to take a wife. The thought brought him great anxiety, to the point of illness. His parents did not yet betroth him. Now it seemed, that it was left to his choosing. His options seemed quite slim in his mind. There was the Whitehill girl, hell, he didn't even know her name but knew she was not a true option for him. This was due to a history he did not quite understand. His family was aligned with many alongside House Forrester. It had been one held strong for many years, one that their families greatly respected. The Whitehill and Forrester Houses had been enemies for as long as Cassius could remember. He would not destroy the alliance with House Forrester just for the chance of an heir. There had to be another option.

Standing, Cassius began to walk the room. Long strides carried him around the perimeter, the thought of different woman coming an going in his mind. The Stark girls were out of the question. Sansa had wed Lord Tyrion and no one knew of Aria's status. She was dead for all he knew. For a long while, he contemplated perusing Lady Mira Forrester. She was the eldest of the Forrester girls. Born after Rodrick and Asher, the same year as his sister Delilah. Her situation was complicated however, she served as a handmaiden to Margery Tyrell. Retrieving her would be as difficult as bring Delilah home.

As he tried to brainstorm other noble women, his mind kept stumbling back to one who held little to no value in the eyes of man. Ingrid, the simple whore. Something about her had drawn him in, leaving his mind to fall on her day and night. Cassius wanted desperately to return to her room at the brothel, and indulge in all she had to offer. Yet, he resisted. Could taking her hand be the answer? Was it something he could even consider? His parents wouldn't let him marry a whore, would they?

The thoughts made his head spin, an arm reaching out to steady himself on a near chair. It was a pair of gentle hands meeting his back to keep him steady that made Cassius realize he was no longer alone. His mother had made her way into his room, a worried expression on her face from seeing him stumble.

"I am well, mother," he promised her, turning around to take her cold hands in his. He did his best to assure her, but he could tell by the look in her bright eyes that she did not believe it for a second. "A lot be on my mind," he admitted after a moment, his large hands letting go of her small so he could sit in the chair he once sought support from. The wood was firm and strong underneath him, his legs spread as she lounged in his seat.

Feminine fingers found his black curls, stroking the silken strands in an attempt to sooth the Lord. The tension was evident in the way his shoulders rested stiffly, and how his breaths were constantly shallow. Unlike his father, Cassius liked to keep things to himself, to show no weakness. As he sat alone with his mother, the new lord was beginning to crack.

"I don't know what to do mother," he muttered through dry lips, "There is so much happening at once. My mind knows no rest. Constantly thinking. Worrying. In days, I have not slept." How his father did this, Cassius would never understand. Then again, his father spent years as their Lord, many of which lay dormant from war. Until now. "The Boltons ride for Fort Stryder to ask for our fealty and I have no bride to bare me an heir. No woman of noble birth can be mine, mother. Not now, not while allegiances will be made or broken by this bond I choose to make."

"You need not marry one of noble birth," she promised him as hands traveled down to stroke the smooth skin of his neck. "You marry any of your choosing and if she does not give you a son, another can take her place," she assured him.

Features distorted. He could not think of a woman in such a way. They were not something to be thrown away. Cassius would fully commit to his bride. She would be his, and he would be hers. Together they would rule. "There is only one woman I want, but what others will think. She is no honest woman mother, but a whore," he broke to her, voice weak.

Adilayde was silent for a long time. Her hands could no longer be felt against the warmth of his skin. His words had obviously taken her by surprise. Fear filled Cassius' chest, terrified what his mother now thought of him. He was not a man to bed another whore every night, he had yet to lay in bed with any woman. It was just that young Ingrid had captured his heart with her sinful temptations. "She had been brought to the brothel not long after the Red Wedding. She is too beautiful to be within those walls mother-"

Mismatched eyes found their way to his mother, looking at her desperately. She had to give him guidance. She had to tell him what to do. Cassius knew what his heart wanted, but was that something the rest of the realm could understand? Would they respect him as greatly as they did now if they knew he planned to wed a whore?

"If she accepts your proposal," Adilayde spoke out, her voice firm with control. Cassius may be lord, but she would never stop being his mother. "No one can know where she had come from. Those who do will be paid off and if they dare to speak we send them to the wall. I will not have the reputation of this House be lost on a common whore."

It was a difficult task not to be offended by the words of his own mother. This difficult part was that she was right. It was not every day a man of his status would degrade himself so low to actually marry a whore. Fuck them? Yes, but never more than that. With all his force, the young Lord had to bite his tongue as to not treat his mother with disrespect. He swore at one point he could taste blood.

"Of course mother," he finally sounded after he fought back the words he truly wanted to speak, "no one will know, just she and I. You and me. It will be the best for our family." Suddenly, he felt guilty. Would he be able to keep this secret from all? If he couldn't, what consequence would it have on their people? "Mother I-"

"Hush my son," he spoke, her voice taking a gentler tone now, "all will be well. Although a whore, this will be a safer move for our family. We draw no set allegiance in the snow with your joining. It will give us the time needed to prepare for the war we have now become apart of."

"Mother, there is only one clear side to be on," Cassius claimed to her gently, "and that is the side that opposes those of the Frey. They are responsible for taking Zachariah from us. I will not let them get away with it. If I must run with the wolves, then so be it."

"And risk further loss-"

"It is a risk that needs to be taken, it will not go unjustified. I would render myself slain if it meant that any man that followed me into battle would avenge the death of my brother. It is not me that they wanted as their lord, but him. I am not the only one angered by his loss. We will have an army, one that will bring justice to the North."

"It is not you who gets to decide when and if justice is served for your brother," Adilayde displeased him with her words. "It is not you that is Warden of the North, but Roose Bolton. His bastard will be at our gates come morning to ask for our fealty. Resisting would not end well for you, my son. Please, do as he asks of you-"

His mother's words had been begging and caused his heart to ache. How could he be expected to kneel before those who had taken their position from the Stark's so viciously? His mother couldn't expect him to roll over and submit, could she?

"I do not know if that is an act I can allow. They fought alongside the Frey's, mother. They had a hand in this battle. They had slain Robb Stark. My brother - Your son!"

The room fell silent, all that went heard was the wind whistling through the window cracks. No one moved, eyes glued to the other. Anger was all Cassius could feel, choking his throat and balling his fists. Was his mother daft? How could he kneel to those he held responsible for so much pain and heartache? It was something Cassius could not bare to do. It would go against all he believed in. Resisting would be worth the risk, wouldn't it?

"I think that it is time to retire for the night," Cassius broke the silence, his voice as cold as the approaching winter. "We have much to attend to come morning. It would be best if we were well rested don't you think?" A strong hand found his mother's back, guiding her from his room. It was as far as he took her, but he kept walking. He had one last objective to attend to before he could find rest.

The streets of Fort Stryder had been taken by darkness. Most had closed up shop and returned home for a night of rest. Some, however, ran wild with the night. In the pub, some were found gulping ale until it put them to sleep. Others could be heard from great lengths away, moans erupting out the windows of the whore house. His destination.

With his heart pounding so hard he could feel it against his chest, Cassius pushed through the door of the brothel. He was only half surprised to find a man fucking a painted whore in the entryway. There were not many things Cassius did not expect from a place like this. Relief took him when women did not swarm him. They were far to busy to waste time greeting every man who walked through the door. Pushing the moans to the back of his mind, Cassius moved deeper into the building, towards the private backroom. It was the loudest room in the place. Not with moans and shrieks of pleasure, but with screams and harsh tones. It was only upon entry, Cassius could get a solid observation of what was taking place. A man had been dissatisfied with a woman's service and had come to get his payment back. He had a hard grasp around her arm, and she struggled against it but was too weak. The woman was Ingrid.

"Unhand her!" Cassius' voice erupted as he threw himself further into the room. The distress on the young woman's features made him quick to anger. No one would ever treat her with such disrespect again.

"My lord-"

"Dare not speak, you are lucky if I let you walk from here with your cock in its place," the threat left his lips with ease, strong arms moving to encase the woman in his hold. "Give the bastard his coin, I have much more to offer you," he spoke to Xander who did not go against the word of his lord. With a quick exchange, it was soon the owner of the brother, the lord and the whore alone in the private room.

"Have you come to finish your business, my lord?" Xanders assumed as her hands gestured the room. "I can offer my parlor at normal wages my Lord-"

"No, I have not come for such desires, but one stronger. I ask of you and your woman Ingrid to do me an honor. I must wed a common woman, my allegiances must be unclear going into this war. The moment I set eyes on Ingrid I knew she was meant for greater things than this, and you are a man I have come to trust greatly as had Zachariah. I beg of you, let me take her hand and swear no one will know of her origins. I shall give you masses of gold if you wed her to me under the watch of the Old Gods in the forest tonight."

It was a strange feeling to wake up in the morning and not have the other side of the bed cold as ice. At once where crisp morning air rested, there was a silken body radiating her own warmth against that of the lord. His Lady. Lady Ingrid Gwhendel of Fort Stryder. With freshly fallen snow under their feet, they had been joined by the maester as his father was taking his travels south. He couldn't have been more relieved at that moment. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders with his marriage to Ingrid. Her apparent pleasure of joining him had made the even much greater. She had appeared just as happy as he was and had wasted no time consummating their marriage.

Sending a rough hand over her waist, he pulled her closer to protect her from the harsh morning cold. He knew they couldn't remain in bed for long as the House Bolton would soon be at their gates, but he wanted to savor this a little longer. "My lady," he hummed out to her, voice remaining groggy with sleepy. Chiseled features cuddled into long golden strands, taking in her sweet scent as he soon found her neck to kiss.

"M'lord?" Came a soft whisper from the lips of the woman who lay at his side. The way she snuggled closer to him, caused a smile to splay over lips. Sharing his bed was definitely something he could get used to. Soon, his bride was facing him, bright eyes looking up at over-tired features. "I have shared my bed with many men," she told him slowly, words near cracking in her throat, "but never has a man held me like you have."

His hand met her face, not in a slap but a gentle caress. "The only bed you will be sharing is mine, with me in it," he assured her, "you will know no pain, feel no sorrow as my duty to you is to assure your safety and happiness. I will love you and I hope, with time we will find love together as my mother and father did before us-"

"Brother-" the voice of Jonas Gwhendel, third born son of Adilayde and Marcus had filled the room following the creak of the old door. There was a sense of alarm in his voice, causing Cassius to shoot into a sitting position. Blankets pooled at his hips, but his body, broad with strength was more than enough to shield the nakedness of Ingrid's perfect body. "Scouts have returned, reporting Ramsey Bolton in their sights. It will not be long 'til he is waiting at our gates."

The news of House Bolton's pending arrival caused the young Lord to pull himself from the bed. He showed no shame as he walked across the room naked to his clothes. The fact his lady acted in the same matter was amusing to him. Men seeing her naked was the norm, they had nothing to hide.

"Eyes on me, brother," Cassius laughed out in a teasing manner, "that is my lady you are ogling," he continued playfully before sending Ingrid a playful wink. The stammering apologies made by his brother were sweeter than lemon cakes.

It didn't take long until he was fully dressed and standing before his brother. "Now, how about you and I go give Ramsey Bolton a proper welcome?" This proposition brought the boys eyes to life. Sparks had become flickering flames ready to burn all in their path. Quick steps carried them through the corridors of their home, and soon they were among his men, waiting in the courtyard. Taking to their horses, the two brothers lead the way to the gate as if it were a path not often taken. Upon arrival, men waited on the other side. Leading them the Bastard of Bolton.

Cassius did not fear Ramsey Bolton, but he realized that may be his most foolish mistake. The bastard may be ugly with his untamed dark strands, eyes like dirty ice and skin wind-burnt into the palest shade of pink. Looks, however, meant nothing - if they had, there was no doubt the chiseled Lord of Fort Stryder would win. What mattered here, was power. Power Cassius did not have.

"Lord Bolton, welcome to Fort Stryder. My father sends his apologies that he could not welcome you himself, but he has business to attend to in the south," Cassius spoke out, remaining mounted on his horse. He would not get down to the man's level. Not yet. "Now, if you could follow me off, we can get to our own business."

Watching Ramsey, Cassius could see the look of dissatisfaction on his features. It almost made him smile, but he must remain firm and lordly as his father would have been. This was the type of situation Zachariah would have thrived in, but Cassius was not quite ready for. Politics were not the strong suit of the Lord, a battlefield was where he belonged.

With the nod of his head, gates rattled and screamed their way upwards, granting Ramsey and his men entry. Cassius did not waste time waiting for him, heels dug into his horse's sides, a grunt leaving his lips, urging it to take off for the castle. Taking off with a gallop, Cassius led the way, his brother not far behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, the eldest brother spotted the thrill on Jonas' face. Soon, they were riding side by side.

"You've gone right pissed 'im off brother," Jonas laughed out before shaking his head of dark curls, "best hope he doesn't flay you next."

Cassius hoped he was joking. He was no stranger to the history of House Bolton. Their sigil, a flayed man, sprawled out and on display. They had been old tactics of torture for the house. Their signature. Rumor was, that the bastard indulged in similar traditions. The Lord was going to give him the benefit of the doubt - and well, rather hoped that the whispered words of others were untrue. The last thing he needed was to meet his fate following his wedding night.

Waiting on the steps of their castle was the remainder of his family. Adilayde stood with a twin on each side, and Ingrid had managed to find a place of her own alongside Sofya. Dismounting his horse, Cassius moved directly to his lady, "you couldn't look more perfect standing here," he muttered in her ear before looking down upon her. She had taken to Delilah's old gowns, abandoning the rags Xander had given her to wear. Now, she looked like a proper lady. He gave her lips a quick kiss before turning around to find Ramsey at his feet. He couldn't help but notice that the beady eyes of the man light up at the sight of his family.

"My, my," the man hummed out, his feet scuffing against the dirt, "from what I recall your sisters had not taken on such Southern beauty, which can only mean one thing someone failed to send out a wedding invitation. How am I not surprised? This one does not quite know his place yet-"

"It was a private ceremony, you can understand that after recent events why someone would want to keep it as such," Cassius addressed, voice strong and firm, "this is my wife, Lady Ingrid. She hails from the Westerlands, blood of my uncle-" he stopped himself there. If he dug himself too deep into his lies with too much detail it would be too obvious that the story was untrue.

"I must offer my congratulations," Ramsey smiled, teeth-baring from behind his lips. With slow steps, he sauntered up towards them, stopping when he was toe to toe with the new Lady of Fort Stryder. He was a short man when he was not upon his horse. It made Cassius smile too wide. How could such a little man carry such intimidation? That he did not understand. Cassius watched as Ramsey took Ingrid's hand, bringing it to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

"Such sweet, soft skin," he muttered and looked up at the family, "if she would be so kind to escort me inside?"

The look Ingrid gave Cassius was one that asked for permission. He could see in her eyes how uncomfortable the man made her. She too must have heard the rumors. Cassius however, was not going to further displease the bastard. "Why, of course," he told the pair, before swallowing hard. Eyes met his wife's, silently promising her that all would be well with a simple glance. The walk to the hall was agonizing. It was apparent that Ramsey did not know what silence was and carried conversation with Ingrid throughout the halls. That was until they came to the entryway, and Cassius took a step in front of the group to stop them in their place.

"Now, it will be you and I from here, Lord Bolton," Cassius told him, nodding back towards his mother for them to leave. If this went poorly, he did not need them facing any harm. "The women need no mind in our politics, the children too young," his eyes then fell on Jonas who had come forward to take Ingrid back. He was next in line if anything were to happen to Cassius. There was no way he was going to have him in the room. It would be too risky.

He was sure Ramsey could sense the distrust, but he gave no care. His father had trusted him to protect their family, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

In the hall, there was a fire burning. Wood popped and crackled under the extreme heat. It set the room aglow with its orange hues. At the head of the room, looking over many long tables, Cassius found the seat of the Lord. It was from there he looked over Lord Ramsey who stood before him. This action seemed to displease the man greatly.

"Your actions beg me to further call into question your loyalty Cassius-"

"Lord Cassius, I give you the respect of giving you, a bastard, your title. I ask you to give me mine."

He then watched as the bastard Bolton came to an equal level with the Lord of Fort Stryder. Standing taller than him, only when Cassius sat upon his seat. "I will give my respect to those who are deserving of such-"

"Are we going to have a problem, Lord Ramsey?"

"We have a problem," the words of the other were venomous now, "I had come to ask for your fealty as your family had devoted your banners to House Stark, but they are no more. You are walking on thin ice Lord Cassius, you have much to learn or your reign over your house will be short-lived."

"Our loyalty was with house Stark as they were Warden of the North. We rode alongside them as Joffery Baratheon had slain Eddard Stark. House Bolton is Warden the North now if I am not mistaken? This would mean, my loyalties now fall with you," he had hoped his logic could overpower the strength of his actions. They had seemed to satisfy the man, and he should have predicted the command that had escaped the lips of Ramsey Bolton:

"Now, kneel."


End file.
